


An Inadvertent Matchmaker

by Runewif (Wynja2007)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Eavesdropping, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Loyalty, Wedding Speeches, no regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Runewif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attending the wedding of friend Aragorn, Legolas reflects on the start of his friendship with the High King, and how different things could have been...</p><p>A one-shot written for the August Teitho Challenge on the topic of 'Bonds' and, as such, is being posted under a pseud as it doesn't fit in my 'real' LOTR Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inadvertent Matchmaker

_Arwen looks happy._

No sooner had Legolas thought it, than he corrected himself.

_Arwen is happy. Aragorn is happy. Elladan and Elrohir are happy for their sister. It is Elrond who merely looks happy._

_Do I merely look happy? I hope not._

But for a quirk of fate, a split-second decision between saying yes and no made from an innate sense of loyalty and honour, but for the value Legolas placed on friendship, it could have been he sitting there, beside Arwen, instead of Aragorn.

Instead of his friend.

And, really, they had not been friends for that long, neither as elves or men counted time; it simply felt as if they had, as if the ties of loyalty between them had existed for long before they had been aware of each other’s existence…

***

Legolas had been about the palace cave complex when word came in from the outposts – a Ranger was on his way through the forest, escorting a prisoner, and Mithrandir had asked the king to help guard this… this spy, thief, whatever this captive was. And while King Thranduil was quite capable of putting the good of the kingdom first to the exclusion of the wishes and needs of all other beings, one did not refuse Mithrandir lightly.

‘Legolas, take a small company and go and meet this Ranger,’ his father the King had said. ‘I wish to see what manner of man he is who does Mithrandir’s bidding and yet is held by him in such high esteem.’

It was a strange parade, indeed, that met Legolas’ eyes as he and his hunters halted in the trees and looked down on the visitors. First of note was a small and gangling creature, all limbs and fingers, dirty and pungent and, frankly, disgusting, bound and gagged and being dragged and propelled along on a halter by an almost as dirty and unpleasantly aromatic man. Neither looked particularly appealing, and as Legolas gave the nod to his company to drop down in a surrounding ring, there was a little jostling for position as each hunter tried to get upwind of the pair.

They dropped from the trees in a silent circle, landing more softly than leaves in autumn, but even though they had weapons drawn, the Ranger’s reflexes were swift enough that he had got his prisoner under control and his bow ready, and had he not been surrounded, would probably have made a fair fight of it.

‘Put up your weapons,’ Legolas said to his archers, the show of mutual strength being over, turning his attention to the man next. ‘Are you the one expected?’

‘I am the Ranger Mithrandir told you of,’ the man said, a glint of steel in his eye. ‘My name is Aragorn. But perhaps my old friend neglected to mention me as a friend?’

Legolas inclined his head, a slight hint of a smile on his face as he took in the entirety of the man; tall with grey, tired eyes and an aura of latent power, he reminded Legolas of a bright light shielded from view. His hair was too short to be long, and too long to be tidy, and he was covered with the little nicks and cuts and bruises common to those travelling through Mirkwood without a guide; the forest was sometimes less welcoming even than the king.

‘In these times, this is how we greet even our friends,’ Legolas said. ‘My lord king sent us to meet you and escort you in. I am Legolas Thranduilion. Follow me.’

***  
Aragorn was not, of course, dirty now. 

For his wedding, the king had allowed himself to be scrubbed and groomed and tidied so that he looked almost a worthy companion at the side of his beautiful wife. His usual too long-and-yet-too-short hair was washed and combed and shone, dark and glinting.

…but what was his friend thinking, really, marrying Arwen? Aragorn would have a far longer lifespan than many mortals, it was true, but he was no youngling any more – if you looked with care, you could see the flecks of grey amongst the dark locks – and he would age and crumble into death, leaving Arwen mourning and alone in a Middle Earth changed beyond recognition.

Of course, Aragorn would be spending all of the rest of his life with Arwen; for him, it was perhaps not such a sacrifice. And Arwen would be the first to protest, to claim that, however long her beloved lived, it would not be long enough anyway.

Elrond, seated on the far side of his daughter, was doing his very best to look complacent and content, but his smile slid aside into a grimace from time to time. Hard, indeed to sit next to your beloved child and know that you will live forever and she has chosen mortality and to leave you bereft of her company.  
But wasn’t that always what happened, when a daughter got married, that she went where her father could not go?

Legolas cast his mind back to a certain conversation with Aragorn not long after they had met…

***

They had bonded swiftly after the capture of Gollum, who was called Sméagol, each seeing in the other qualities worth valuing, and one night after the creature had been locked away in the dungeons, Legolas had purloined a bottle or two of the cellarer’s best beer and had tapped on Aragorn’s door.

‘You’re off tomorrow, I think you said, my friend?’ he began, smiling in a friendly way and waving the beer bottles cheerily. ‘I wondered whether you would like to drink to your road ahead?’

Aragorn had spread wide the door and invited the elf in.

‘Come, then. I will not refuse to share your ale with you. Even though it is hard to drink to my road, which lies south, when I would fain go west,’ the Ranger said with a sigh. ‘For that is where my heart is, now.’

‘So you have a lady-love?’ Legolas had teased gently. ‘Do you mean to tell me that beneath all that mud and dust you call ‘travel-stains’, there is something appealing to the gentle maids of Middle Earth?’

‘To one, there is. She and I plighted our troth many years ago; times being what they are, and her father having certain notions of what is due to his daughter, I have much work to do before I can win her from him. At times, I am certain I will die trying… at others, I am almost convinced of success.’

Although Legolas was centuries old, the Ranger always seemed, to him, to be far his senior in maturity and experience. So to hear him confess to uncertainty about anything was novel, almost as much of a surprise as learning that his friend had room in his life for love at all, and Legolas wondered if this was one area in which he might have the more experience. He did, after all, have a certain popularity which had led to some interesting times, even if he hadn’t found the love of his life quite yet.

‘She must be a rare prize, indeed!’ Legolas had replied. ‘I wish you well in your conquest.’

‘Ah, but it is not she I must conquer – it is half the world, first! If I am to rise high enough to claim her, I have first merely to be proclaimed rightful King of both Gondor and Arnor… only then will her father give her to me, and then, I fear, with a bad grace.’

‘Very well – and how may I help?’

‘You? Help? When you know nothing of the world outside your woods?’ Aragorn had grinned. ‘Do not mistake, I am grateful for your offer, and your continued friendship, your willingness to listen when I am weary and hope eludes me, that is much indeed. But as for more practical matters…’

‘Well, who knows? Perhaps one day I will come down from my trees and walk in the wide lands beside you.’

‘And you think your father would permit that?’

It was Legolas’ turn to grin.

‘If I could show it was for the good of the kingdom, perhaps.’

The palace felt quiet after Aragorn had left for his southward journey. To Legolas, so close to home as he had always lived, the Ranger had made it briefly seem as if the world was boundless and the hope woke in him that he might travel it himself, one day, after the manner of his friend.

So that when, a scant three months after taking charge of Gollum, the creature escaped, it seemed logical to Legolas to offer to take the news to Imladris. 

It was not simply that he felt responsible, but to feed the spirit of adventure, the longing to see new horizons which had been stirred in him from his conversations with Aragorn, and perhaps he travelled with the hope of renewing his friendship with the dour, taciturn, untidy man.

Even if he did smell of hard work and wilderness.

Legolas had ridden into Imladris after a long and interesting journey with his small company of hunters to the news that Aragorn was out on some chase or other – in fact, he and his party were the subject of searches of their own – and Legolas was shown to accommodations where he could rest from the journey. His news, being for Aragorn or Mithrandir’s ears only, he kept to himself for the moment.

There had been a strange atmosphere around Imladris, a sense of brittle fragility behind the outward calm, and while he and his travelling companions were made very welcome, it was plain that the attention of the Lords of Rivendell was elsewhere. But the table was good, and there was singing and poetry and music in the Hall of Fire after, and if Lord Elrond himself was not present, and the much-renowned Lord Glorfindel was from home, still there were friendly elves enough to prevent a woodland elf far from home from being lonely or feeling too out of place.

It was then that he saw her, sitting quietly in a corner, her handmaidens about her, and although she talked and smiled with them, an air of gentle sorrow clung to her. Very fair, he thought her, her skin like the finest porcelain, her hair as dark as night under the greenwood, her movements and her stillness alike full of grace. But it was not until she looked up and inadvertently caught his eye, and offered a grave, polite smile to him that he knew her: Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of her people, even more beautiful than report said.

And as he had bowed, and she had inclined her lovely head towards him in courteous acknowledgement, he was lost…

***

Aragorn looked up briefly, the smile still crinkling his eyes, and saw Legolas watching him. He placed his hand over his heart, dipped his eyes and lowered his head, his mouth shaping the words, ‘le fael, Legolas.’

Legolas smiled softly, acknowledging the new High King and even newer bridegroom’s expression of gratitude, and then Arwen looked up too, and dimpled, her whole body smiling as she looked at her husband beside her.

It was with some small sense of pride, now, that Legolas was able to admit he wasn’t himself entirely innocent of involvement in the ultimate bringing together of these two. At the very least, he was an inadvertent matchmaker, complicit by silence if not by action, by not-doing as much as by not-speaking…

***

‘I see you have noticed our Lady Arwen. Lovely, is she not?’

The elf who had spoken – Lindir – was one who had been singing earlier, and now making way for harp and flute, had come to bear the Mirkwood elves company. 

‘Indeed, we have heard stories of the beauty of the daughter of Elrond even in our dark corner of Middle Earth,’ one of Legolas’ companions said. ‘But truth far outstrips rumour. Lovely indeed!’

‘She has been staying with her kin to the south,’ Lindir went on. ‘But as the world outside grows darker, it was thought Imladris a safer haven. Besides,’ he added. ‘The road to the Grey Havens is easier than some other routes to the sea.’

‘Will she sail, then?’ Legolas asked, curious. 

‘It is true that many elves are sailing now, escaping the darkness before all becomes too dark. Yet she is content, for the moment, in her father’s house.’

***

Drawn back to the present by the voice of the king, Legolas smiled and tried to listen as Aragorn, eloquent, charismatic leader that he was, stumbled through an embarrassed and embarrassing speech about being married and what Arwen meant to him.

Legolas didn’t need to listen; he already knew what Arwen meant to Aragorn. And he had been an unwitting recipient of the knowledge of what Aragorn meant to Arwen, too, back in Imladris before he set out on the quest…

The morning after his arrival in Imladris, Legolas had gone walking in the valley, missing the ever-present voices of the trees of his home. The trees here were light, flighty things – birches with pale trunks and shimmering, whispering leaves, but he found a stand of pines which were a little more sensible and climbed up into the branches, resting his back against the trunk and drinking in the sweet, resinous fragrance as he listened to the song of the trees.

Suddenly, there were voices, close and clear, and there was no time for him to slide down the tree and make his presence known; it seemed better to him to stay where he was. If the approaching conversationalists did not become aware of him, and if he did nothing to make them aware he had overheard, then there would be no harm done, surely?

And had it been just an ordinary conversation, no doubt that would have been the case.

But it had not.

‘Arwen, dearest of daughters!’ a strong and male voice said in measured tones that belied the intensity of love behind the words, ‘I care only for your well-being, you must know that…’

‘I know that you think you do, Father. I know that you love me and that you mean well. But…’

‘The world is changing. Soon, it may be too late. But you can take ship now; there is a company who will ride with you to the havens, I will soon follow, a year or two…’

‘I thought we had discussed this, Father? I thought you had accepted that I would not sail, that I will stay here with the one to whom I plighted my troth…’

‘That was done without my approval, Arwen! Had I known what your grandmother was up to…’

‘I am not a child, Father, not to know my own mind. I know it is not what you wish for me; it is not something I ever expected for myself. But there, it has happened, I love Aragorn…’

Legolas held his breath. So here was the one for whom his friend must needs conquer half the world? Now he understood why the Ranger sometimes doubted himself!

‘…and all that he is, even his mortality. Father, we think in such long arcs of time, we forget what it is like to live in a moment, in a day. When I am with him, each second has meaning. When he is not with me, a year can pass and be of no more worth that the pause between each breath…’

‘My child… I know you think you love this man. I love him too; he is as a son to me, and I know his worth. But you do not know, you cannot begin to understand the bitterness of mortality. My brother chose a mortal life – the world is empty without him…’

‘And my world without Aragorn is empty, Father! It will always be so, and at least if I choose my fate to follow after him, then I will be content, having chosen… Do not press me to sail!’

‘The world is growing uncertain, Arwen. I cannot give you up to him, unless he can unite the two kingdoms once more. For only then will the world have peace enough for me to believe you may be safe with him. And even so, all will end in ruin for you, my dear.’

‘But I will have happiness, first. As it is, I currently have only sorrow. Do not, I beg you, Father, condemn me to an eternity of grief…’

‘Yet that is what you will condemn me to, if you do not sail. Arwen – a parent never expects to outlive their child. It is not right.’

‘I am sorry, Father. But I love him.’

‘Go, child. Your handmaids will be seeking you soon. I will stay here a little while.’

Arwen moved away, and presently Legolas saw her distant figure heading along the path towards the house. A few moments passed, and just when he was wondering whether it was safe to descend, from directly beneath him came the sound of one clearing his throat.

‘I am certain this is a very pleasant tree to sit in, but I would be grateful if you would climb down for a moment so that I may see whom my daughter and I have been entertaining this morning.’

Ah.

Legolas took a breath and dropped from the tree to land lightly amongst its roots. He bowed as Lord Elrond turned towards him.

‘My lord, please forgive my accidental inclusion into your confidence; it was not my intention to eavesdrop, but you were upon me before I could make myself known… I can assure you, however, that anything I may have heard I shall never repeat…’

‘And you are…?’

‘Legolas of Mirkwood. I am come on an errand with a message from my father…

‘Of course; I remember being told you were here. We will have your message presently – I will call a council and it will be discussed there.’ Elrond sighed. ‘Have you met my daughter?’

‘She sat in the Hall of Fire last night. We did not speak, but…’

‘But she took your breath away.’ Elrond stared at Legolas, a measuring, keen glance that looked too deeply into his heart.’

‘Yes, and more than just your breath. Would you say that you love her?’

‘I… would say that a moment spent admiring, and a few minutes hearing her voice are scant reasons on which to base such a monumental claim, but, she is altogether beyond compare…’

‘You are of the royal house of Mirkwood. There are very few eligible families left in Middle Earth, so that even a union with a man looks not impossible, if he be of the right lineage and character.’ Elrond paused, his keen glance too measuring for comfort. ‘Yet an alliance between Imladris and Mirkwood would be far superior… Could you love her? Could you love my daughter?’

Legolas took a deep breath. It was too soon, too early… his heart had gone out to her, yes, to her sorrow and her beauty... but that had been before he knew why she was sorrowful.

‘No, my lord. I could not.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Your daughter is very lovely, and she moved me deeply. But Aragorn… he is my friend. I could not break the bonds of my friendship, not for the loveliest maiden in Middle Earth. Not even for the good of the Kingdom of Greenwood the Great.’

‘But if she were to come to love you…?’

‘She will not, my lord.’ Legolas shrugged. How could it be that Lord Elrond, as wise as he was, needed this explaining to him? ‘Your daughter already has a love – she is in the grip of that one great, consuming love we all are taught to dream of and for which we all hope. In Aragorn, she has found hers, and he has spoken to me of the great love of his life. Without naming her, he has talked of his hopes and his fears, of how he intends to prove himself worthy of her. Arwen will never love me, or anyone else. She already loves him.’

He paused for a moment.

‘I am sorry if this will bring you sorrow. But it will bring them joy, if you permit it.’

Needless to say, this speech had not rendered him popular with Lord Elrond. Nor did his news – that Gollum had escaped – particularly fill everyone with delight. In fact, it seemed more grievous than Legolas had realised. 

Perhaps that was why he had found himself chosen to go with the Quest to destroy the One Ring, because he and his king had failed to keep the prisoner safe. Or perhaps it was Elrond’s revenge on him, for refusing to try to entice Arwen away from her beloved Aragorn.

Whatever the reason, he had certainly had his wish to travel fulfilled.

***

At the wedding feast they had seated Legolas amongst his friends from the quest, rather than with the rest of the elves and now, applause broke out around him, bringing him once more back to the moment. Gimli, seated at his side, guffawed loudly and banged on the table. Legolas glanced at him, the sideways, downwards look that always appeared supercilious, simply because of the difference in their heights.

‘Something amusing?’ he asked.

‘Aye, laddie, he… she… oh, never mind! You should pay more attention!’

Pay more attention. Very well. It would seem that Aragorn’s speech was over, the eating was over, and only the drinking was left to do. The newlyweds leaned together like steepled hands, and it was apparent in their minds at least, the wedding breakfast was well and truly over and they were keen to move on to the next course. From close by, a tall, white-clad, full-bearded figure rose and cleared his throat with a ‘harrumph’. 

But first, Gandalf the white, in party mode, would like to say a few words…

Ah. The speeches were not yet over, then. Legolas’ mind drifted again…

***

The long road south. New friendships forged, existing ones strengthened. Had anyone told him, when he had looked down from the trees of Mirkwood, that the tangled, tired Ranger would soon become one of his closest friends, he would have laughed…. Well, perhaps not laughed, it would have been ill-mannered… but he would never have believed it.

It wasn’t until Lothlórien that Aragorn spoke about Arwen, and then not at first, not easily.

‘This is where it was,’ the Ranger said, standing at the foot of Cerin Amroth and looking up. Legolas had been passing his nights away from the company while they slept, and tonight Aragorn had come seeking him. ‘Arwen and I… we stood barefoot on the hill, the flowers about us, and we swore ourselves each to the other. In Rivendell… Legolas, I am not blind, for all I am a man and see less clearly than elves!’

Legolas held peace, unsure what was coming next.

‘In Rivendell, I saw Elrond’s eyes moving between you and his daughter. I saw you look at her, sometimes, with such determined denial in your eyes… I am sure that Lord Elrond would see his daughter’s future as being in safe hands, if only she would marry an elf!’

‘She cannot, though. She is plighted, and loves, elsewhere.’ Legolas shrugged. ‘It is very sad, for Lord Elrond. But not, I think, for his daughter.’

‘I wonder what he said?’ Aragorn mused. ‘I wonder what he saw to prompt him to speak…?’

‘I think he saw someone he could use for his own purposes,’ Legolas said. 

‘Then I have a feeling he was disappointed.’

‘Perhaps he was.’ Legolas took a deep breath. ‘The air here is sweet, even though it is winter. I can imagine the fragrance of the flowers would have made it a very special time for you.’

‘Yes, indeed it was. I have lived with the memory as a beacon in my heart for many years.’

‘I am sure that which you long for will come to pass. If it does not, it will not be because of me, I assure you. Aragorn… I saw her. I looked, and did not know who it was I was seeing. Once I knew… I did not look again, even though Elrond would have given me every encouragement.’

‘And to my shame, I remember laughing when you asked how you could help me win my lady-love. And there you were, helping, and I did not even realise.’

‘Sometimes that is the best way to help someone, when they do not know it.’

***  
Gandalf had finally finished speaking.

‘What was that about?’ Legolas asked Gimli.

The dwarf shrugged and drank more beer. 

‘I don’t know. Was going to ask you, later. You seem a bit out-of-sorts, laddie. What you need is a bit of fun… how about a drinking contest? You and me, eh?’

‘I’d rather have a head-counting contest, friend Gimli. It would be less painful for you, the following day. Not that there are any orcs left within two month’s march of the city.’

‘Maybe we should save it for later, then. Plenty of time.’

Yes. Plenty of time. Another seven days of celebration to mark the nuptials of King Elessar Telcontar and the Lady Arwen Undómiel … how long does it take to say, ‘I do’, for Eru’s sake?

But now the speeches really were over, the bride and groom getting up to leave amidst more applause and cheers. They were not due to retire from the public eye just yet, of course, they were merely leading the way through to the decorated courtyard where they would sit and talk with their guests and well-wishers, and musicians would play and sing… it had been, Legolas supposed, a long courtship for his human friend, thirty-nine years in total. Perhaps there was some reason to this extended celebration – for every decade Elrond had made Aragorn wait for his daughter’s hand, a half-day of rejoicing.

Glancing across at Elrond, Legolas wondered if the Lord of Imladris would be able to keep smiling and looking happy. Certainly, he was looking a little strained around the eyes already.

Legolas followed the throng through and without meaning to, found himself amongst the cluster of a little group of Lothlórien elves; the Galadhrim, Rúmil and Orophin sought him out – their brother had not survived the War of the Ring, and they felt his loss keenly.

The two suddenly bowed and stepped aside, and Legolas heard the gentle rustling which usually accompanied the procession of one or other great elven lady. And as Arwen could be seen quite clearly, happily holding court with her new husband, it could only be her maternal grandmother.

‘My lady Galadriel,’ he said, turning to greet her.

‘Legolas. A wonderful day, is it not?’

‘Indeed, a joyous occasion.’

‘And no regrets?’ she said softly. ‘I know there was once a half of a thought, a scheme of Elrond’s…’

Legolas found he could share a teasing smile with the grandmother of the bride.

‘With respect, Arwen is a little too old for me…’

Galadriel burst into delighted laughter.

‘Ah, me! I shall remember to pass that on to Aragorn! But what of you, Legolas? Is there no fair one who could make you happy?’

‘Too many of our kindred are sailing, my lady. I have friendships to keep me in Middle Earth a while yet. Perhaps later – I am an elf, I am patient. There is time yet.’  
‘Very true. And now new lands are opening up, leading to kingdoms long sundered… who is to say that we may not yet find an enclave of our kindred? That somewhere, a remnant of the Nandor or the Teleri may still be lingering?’

‘Such is the stuff of the more improbable tales, my lady. I am content.’

She looked into his eyes, searching, exploring his heart with her gaze.

‘Do you know? I rather think you are. And you will have business enough with Ithilien and Erys Galen, Fangorn and Aglarond, not to mention Minas Tirith, to fill your days until the time comes for you to build a ship and follow your heart across the Sundering Seas…’

She wandered off towards her granddaughter, humming a fragment of an old, old song, and Legolas found Elrond at his side.

‘Arwen appears content with her lot and with no notion of the brevity of the days of her gladness,’ the lord of Imladris said. ‘Yet I cannot help but feel she might have found happiness elsewhere, with the right encouragement.’

‘But, my lord, that would have meant betraying my friend. And the gift that is won through deceit and betrayal is soon tarnished.’

‘Perhaps it is for the best.’ Elrond sighed. ‘I must try to be glad. Arwen looks happy.’

Legolas found a smile. 

‘Say rather, my lord, that you look happy,’ he replied. ‘Arwen is happy. There is a difference.’And with that he bowed, and turned away smiling, to go towards where his friend Aragorn was waving him over.


End file.
